


Not a Chosen One

by wyrdann104



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Chosen Ones, Gen, Original Character(s), Trope Inversion, that's what I'm going for at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:12:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7989742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrdann104/pseuds/wyrdann104
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Chosen One is dead. The cruel emperor still reigns. And there is a girl with a knife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Chosen One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly not sure what this is, and have no idea whether or not I'm going to expand on it. If someone has ideas, or wants to adopt this, I'd love it if you messaged me/ commented/ whatever.

The axe glittered, fell.

A head of golden hair dropped, rolled.

My breath stuttered, hitched. My throat closed.

It couldn’t be, it couldn’t! He was the Chosen one! He was supposed to save us! Free us! What had happened to good overcoming evil?

We all stood in shock for several minutes. But someone in the crowd started crying, and it was the catalyst that set off screams and sobs and shouts of denial.

It couldn't end like this! This wasn't how it worked!

The hero was supposed to save the day, to overthrow the emperor and set us free!

There was nearly a riot, before groups of soldiers began splitting the crowd up. I got out of there before I was potentially arrested, ran through the back alleys towards home with tears clouding my sight.

We had no Chosen One.

 

XxX

  
The Emperor laughed at the sight of me, a dirty, bloody girl-peasant with only a knife in hand, "And I suppose you're the new Chosen One? Picked to rise above the masses? Perhaps a prophecy to your name?"

I shook my head, my lips quirked in a bitter little smile, "No. No prophecies, no Chosen Ones, no warriors. I'm perfectly ordinary. Just a simple little peasant with a simple  
little knife. And I know that nothing's going to change if somebody won't change it. I'm done relying on Chosen Ones, anyway."

Ascha's books had proven what, in the back of my mind, I'd always known. There was a dictator, and a Chosen One had overthrown him. But something had happened to the hero, and a new villain had appeared. Again and again and again.

Decades and centuries and millennia, the cycle continued.

But there was no Chosen One anymore, he'd been killed before he could play his part.

So I gripped my knife, and I didn't pray to any gods or spirits. They'd never cared for us.

I held that perfectly ordinary kitchen knife, with all it's little dents and dings, and I threw it, just like I'd practiced a thousand times, after I got home from my job at the pub, because the streets weren't safe, were never safe. There was no one to make them safe.

And it flew.

It wobbled some, but I knew that knife better than my own hands, and that wobble landed my knife right in the center of the Emperor's throat.

It wasn't a battle between good and evil, right and wrong, light and dark. Just a little knife in the air and then his throat, a bit of blood, a gurgle and hitch, and the Emperor was dead.

How strange. He was just as human as I was. Somehow I hadn't thought he would be.

The guards weren't moving. I ascended the steps to the dais where the Emperor's body was slumped in it's golden throne, and pulled my knife free.

It was bloody.

I looked at it, strangely detached, and pulled a kitchen rag from my pocket to wipe it clean.

When I turned, the guards were kneeling, and the one with the fanciest armor intoned, "All hail-"

"No!" I was abruptly struck with fury, "No. Don't hail me. I'm not royalty. I'm not Chosen. I'm a waitress and sometimes cook, and not special in the least. Don't hail me. I killed the Emperor because he had my best friend executed. That's all it is. I'll be returning to my job after this, and I'd like to do it without a single hail. I'm not a hero. Don't call me one."

I was struck, suddenly, by a thought, half from one of Ascha's tales, half from the strange, mad grief I'd had since I'd heard of Ascha's death.

I descended from the dais, and turned to the head guard, "I have only one request, if you're willing to listen. Let the Emperor rot on his precious throne, and shut the doors to the throne room. And the next time someone comes to claim his position, open the doors and show them the body. They can remove his corpse themselves before sitting on his throne, and let them always remember that there doesn't need to be a Chosen One to kill a king."

And so I left.

XxX

  
For years, there was a kingdom without a ruler. It sat in a corner of the continent and was forgotten.

But there came a king, ambitious, who wanted to conquer all the world. And after conquering two countries, he headed for that small, ruler-less country, believing it would be even simpler than the others.

He and his army marched into the capital city unopposed, and practically swaggered into the palace.

He marched up to the guards in front of the throne room doors (they sat on comfortable chairs and were playing cards and did not salute) "Open the doors to the throne room."

One of them stood up now, and he was old, and strangely solemn, "You wish to assume the throne?"

"I do."

The old man had an unidentifiable expression decorating his face, while the younger guard had a strange mix of horror and anticipation. They moved to the great doors, twice as high as a man, and the old man slid a key, large and ornate, into the lock, and turned it. The doors slid open silently, and the king and his men stepped inside, and several cried out in horror.

A skeleton, mummified bits of skin clinging to it's bones, moth-eaten remnants of fine cloth covering it, and a tarnished crown of gold on it's head. There were three other skeletons splayed on the dais, each adorned in faded, rotting finery.

The king found his voice, though it was higher than he'd have liked, "What is this?!"

The old man chuckled grimly, "That's the remnants of the Emperor, and the three who wished to take his throne. Actually, the one on the throne is the newest."

"Is there a curse?"

"No. There's not a single drop of magic in the whole affair. Just a person with a knife."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Someone came up to them, and slew them with a knife, nothing more."

"No curse? Is there a Chosen One?"

"Ha! Any of us'd kill you if you said that to us! No, there are no Chosen Ones in this country. We like to take care of our problems before they get to that point, these days."

And the two guards drew long, utilitarian knives, perfectly magic-less knives without a single enchantment upon them.

The younger guard spoke, now, nervous but unflinching, "We like to think we're doing perfectly well without a king, thank-you."


End file.
